Walk Away
by evalovelace
Summary: Their story isn't even half written yet. He has the power to give Nikki Heat a happy ending and so he has the power to give Kate Beckett one too. That's his job.
1. Chapter 1

I don't have much

But these dreams that lead to nowhere

You don't say much

But I can see your disappointment

You don't know what I'm saying

Don't know how long I've waited

- "Walk Away"

Peter Bradley Adams

* * *

><p>Her recovery had been remarkable, it really had. She was back to work in record time and that meant that so was he, and for that he was glad. Because sitting around in the loft with too much time and too many thoughts was unbearable. The precinct was a welcome respite although everything about the place felt off, like the whole building was tilted precariously on an axis, ready to tip at the slightest of movements. Or perhaps that was just his new normal, unsteadily perched on some unknown cliff, waiting, waiting for a push or a pull. In what direction, he did not know.<p>

What he did know was this: he was on probation, pending good behavior by the new Captain who was less than enthused by his presence. He was determined to stay on her good side and so he made himself useful and made sure to keep out of her way. Anything to keep him off her radar. And in this, Castle was excelling. His theories were useful- they had solved a tough case, he hadn't done anything wrong nor had he put any of the other detectives in harm's way. In every respect, he had been the model shadow.

At least this was one aspect of his life he could maintain the status quo.

Because for weeks now, Beckett had been absolutely inscrutable. Since her release from the hospital all those months ago, she had been steadily closing every single door he had painstakingly opened. She wouldn't let him near her as she recovered, wouldn't let him help her after painful physical therapy, wouldn't let him coddle her while she healed. In fact, she hadn't let anyone near her. She firmly refused each offer of help, insisting instead that she was fully capable of handling her own problems. They had tried of course, Lanie especially, but each time was met with obstinacy until finally, finally, they had let her be to fight it out alone.

That didn't mean it didn't kill him to do it though.

Stupidly, he had hoped, not merely dreamed but _believed_, that this thing would be the making of them. That she would wake and realize what they meant to each other and she would remember the words that bled from his soul as she lay dying in the too green grass. He had let himself believe that they were done with their complicated tango, that glimpsing death would, in fact, reaffirm life. He had believed. What a stupid, romantic thing that was. Because Beckett wasn't talking, she wasn't even smiling. Hell, she was barely eating. It was everything he could do to get food into her system and every time he was met with blank indifference.

Castle would gladly take the old, angry Beckett over this new, remote version. Angry Beckett he could deal with, he had learned early on how to disarm her. This Beckett, the one who looked brittle, like a sapling against the winter wind, was an entirely different creature. He didn't know how to get inside her cocoon of silence, didn't know how to break the ice of her coldness. She only talked to him now when it strictly involved a case. She didn't laugh or joke with him any longer. She ignored his half-hearted innuendos, which had shocked him into silence the first time it had happened. In all regards, it seemed to Castle that Beckett tried her hardest to ignore everything regarding him. When she had yelled at him to get out of her life, he didn't think she had meant it. They certainly hadn't talked about that night, nor the night after that, when his heart had split in two as her body broke under his from the betrayal of a trusted friend. They hadn't talked as they prepared for the funeral and then they hadn't talked because she was fighting for her life. It would have been spectacularly selfish of him to bring it up, especially because it would only compound her anguish.

So he had stayed silent, tried to be whatever it was she needed, even if it meant he had to be just the guy to fetch the nurse. But nothing had been solved. It hung like a pall in the air above them, heavy and weighted while they slowly drowned against the burden of things unsaid.

Needless to say, these last months had been hard for him. Beckett was healed, physically, but emotionally? He wasn't sure. In fact, he wasn't sure about anything anymore. He knew she was seeing a therapist but if she talked, he had no way of knowing. All he knew was that she had withdrawn into herself and it didn't look like she was coming back any time soon. And that, that was killing him.

Castle understood that she wasn't a sharer. He knew that from the start. He knew how deeply this had hurt her, how much it cost her to forgive Montgomery. He also knew that she was still reeling from her breakup with Josh. He knew all of this. But it didn't make it any easier to deal with. He needed to talk, the words were burning within him, scorching his very soul, twisting deep in his veins so that he was sure if he were to cut himself, ink would spill instead of blood. He needed, desperately, to tell her that he too was in pain, that he understood and that he was sure that they could heal themselves so much better together rather than apart. Because apart? Apart was a slow torture. Apart would surely be their undoing.

Their latest case is rough. The death of a young mother and her child at the hands of a possessive husband. He watched her through the whole thing, fighting tooth and nail to control the impulse to comfort her. The night they wrapped it, the boys had insisted on getting a drink. They deserved it, Ryan said and he fully agreed. She declined the offer, as they all knew she would and it was with a heavy heart that he let her leave the precinct to deal with whatever emotions she allowed herself alone. But he was so tired of this, the new dance they found themselves entangled in, the one that now involved sharp bits of glass that they tried desperately to ignore. And so, ditching the boys, he heads to her apartment because he can't be alone and he's not sure that she can either.

His knock is confident unlike the flutter of his pulse against his throat.

She opens the door and stares at him like she can't see him at all. He thinks maybe she can't.

"Hey." His voice betrays nothing of the nervousness he is suddenly feeling with the appearance of this hollow shell of his Kate Beckett.

"Castle. What are you doing here?" Her voice too holds nothing, a sieve against the onslaught of emotions.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright. Can I come in?" He doesn't wait for an answer and brushes past her. He doesn't catch the shiver that runs through her at the slight contact.

"I'm fine. Stop trying to nurse me."

"Well I'm _not_. Why can't you let me be concerned for you?" He struggles against the rules that she has written out, the ones where they don't talk or acknowledge any actual feelings for the other.

"Because there is nothing to be concerned about." She is much better at pretending. He suddenly wishes he were a better actor. Ironic, yes, and he gets temporarily sidetracked by this feeling. He came here to _stop_ this. Focus.

"Liar." Wow, he hadn't meant it to be tinged with such venom.

She eyes him wearily, like a caged animal wondering what to make of a new object. "What do you want from me?"

"The truth." And he felt everything that he had been suppressing these long months come bubbling to the surface. All the words he wants to give her, all the words she needs to hear are about to spill out and make a mess of their lives. He knows it. She knows it too; he can see it in her eyes. It makes him want to speak all the more. He opens his mouth but she beats him to it.

"The truth? The truth is that I don't care. About any of it." And he knows it's not the case she is referring to. He can't do anything without making a complete fool of himself and he is tired, so tired. He just doesn't have the capacity to do this anymore, to decode her emotional codex so he does the only thing that he can.

"Fine. I'm done." His voice is even, low and strong. Maybe he is a better actor than he thought.

Her face shows nothing, not a flicker of feeling mars her features. He leaves, his body crushing with the enormity of his actions and he doesn't see impact his words have upon her as the door closes and her body crumbles to the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own these characters


	2. Chapter 2

I'm standing, heart breaking

And you just walk away

-"Walk Away"

Peter Bradley Adams

* * *

><p>Kate collapses onto the floor, her body robbed of all oxygen. What did he mean he's done? He can't be, he's Richard Castle, her eternal shadow. He all but stitched himself to the soles of her feet. He can't just be <em>done. <em>She wants to run after him, yell at him, tell him what a fool he's being, what a fool she's been but she finds herself completely immobile.

When he left he took all her basic motor functions.

She wasn't sure any man had the capability to do that but she was wrong. She always is when it comes to him, she knows that now. She sucked in a breath she finds difficult to push down into her lungs and whatever pieces of her heart were still intact after these last months began to shatter with the impact of it.

She feels the ache of his departure, deep with in her bones, solidifying her marrow like wax and she wishes for it all to disappear. Wishes against the stars that she cannot see in the night sky that she knew how to fix the mess of her life.

Because it is a mess.

She is a mess.

She is careening in a deep freefall, she is unmoored-a boat in the open sea fighting for balance while a tempest rages and threatens her bow. She is not sure she can save herself this time.

After she had gotten out of the hospital, after life stopped being Technicolor and returned to its normal sepia, her defense mechanisms had kicked in strong. She was self-aware enough to know that, had been through enough therapy to recognize the symptoms of her grief. Only this time, this time there was Castle, her partner, her friend, her—something, wanting to help and provide and care for her. _For her. _And she just didn't know how to process it. She didn't know how to grieve with another person, how to let him see all those jagged edges of her torn and tattered soul because most of the time, she tried not to look herself. She didn't want him to see the physical manifestation of her agony either, the angry scar that stood as a permanent reminder of everything that she had ever loved.

Oh but her heart. Her stupid, girly heart.

It's her heart that reminds her of the words he left for her, a life raft in the midst of utter calamity. When she woke up, she remembered. Of course she did. She remembers every second of every day. But she is still so lost and so confused and she can't deal with that right now. She just can't deal with overwhelming love when she is trying to index all the other rollicking feelings that shoot through her body at any given moment.

So.

So he should understand that. He should know. Anger flares within her, white hot and bright. It burns fast and then flames out, leaving ash against her tongue.

All she is left with now is a pile of charred coal.

He should be aware that she is not ready, that she can't give him anything because if she lets one thing slip, the whole house of cards would come tumbling down and it takes everything she has to put one foot in front of the other each day. It takes everything that she has to hold all the pieces of herself together. How can he expect more from her? She can't even give it to herself. She can't cry the tears that lurk behind her eyes and lodge in her throat. They wait, ready to burst forth at a moments notice and she is acutely aware of them. But she can't do much more than try to ignore these things for a while because the threat of all the very real, very damaging, very beautiful things she feels for Castle will split her wide open and she's been cut up enough already.

She manages to pull herself into a sitting position. That is a very good start. Her arm is still tingling at the contact points of his skin on hers. The lightest of touches as he brushed past her.

Her heart wants it to never stop.

At least she's made some progress. She's acknowledged her own feelings. Her therapist would give her a gold star. If only she could smile at that, but her smile is dammed up by the tears and she's worried it might never become unblocked.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Thank you to all those who reviewed! This is the first story of a three part trilogy, so buckle up. It's going to be a good ride. (I hope)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own these characters.


	3. Chapter 3

I know you've tried to understand the life I'm living

But how can you give something you were never given?

You don't know what I'm saying

Don't know how long I've waited

- "Walk Away"

Peter Bradley Adams

* * *

><p>The next day at the precinct, Beckett tries not to acknowledge the large Castle shaped hole in the general atmosphere of the bullpen. It proves harder than she originally anticipated and the problem is compounded when she has to continually field questions on his whereabouts. Her thin reserve of patience is beginning to chafe and it is all she can do to not snap. She doesn't need to give anyone another reason to be concerned for her. She knows that they all watch her like she'll break at any second, that the seams that had sewed her back together would unravel and her insides would come tumbling forth. They look at her like they are not sure they want to be around for that inevitable outcome.<p>

She can't help but think that Castle wouldn't shy away.

Castle would run to the nearest sewing kit and stitch her back together.

Castle would hold all her broken pieces in place if she insisted on doing it herself.

Castle wouldn't leave her gaping on the floor.

Oh.

Wait.

Didn't he do that already? Last night when he ended everything that they had with a few simple words?

Those words that have burned themselves into the wall of her heart, reminding her constantly of her failures. Not only at this, not only with them, but with her mother. With her entire life.

* * *

><p>She had given the case up. She had. She was not a junkie and she had stores of resolve. After the hospital, after it all, she had told Castle and the boys that she was finished with it.<p>

She quit cold turkey. And she was proud of that. Proud of her iron will.

But that will, however strong, was no match for her insecurities.

It held fast but it didn't stop the questions from spilling out around her, staining her world a violent neon, mocking her as she struggled to put away the person she thought that she was.

When her mother died, so had she. The girl she once was had been shoved aside by this new, armor clad woman. This vigilante who only knew the bittersweet taste of justice. This cop who woke up everyday and zipped into her suit of rectitude until one day she never took it off. It became a part of her, melded to her skin, until she could no longer recognize even the vestiges of her old self. She had long ago given up Katie in favor of Beckett, had grudgingly allowed Kate passage as long as she didn't interfere too much with what Beckett needed to do.

Now? Now she had put a stop to Beckett's crusading and was attempting to slip off the suit that had unknowingly become her everyday attire. It wasn't easy. How do you disconnect that part of yourself that you thought made you, you? For so long, her identity was twined with her mother's. Not just by blood but by the pain of victimhood. Because for all that she was, Beckett, Kate and Katie were nothing more than casualties in the on going war between good and evil.

But now she had to start again. She had washed her hands of the case, knowing deeply that it was the right thing—the only thing—to do if she wanted any chance at a normal life and at the end of the day, against the stark reality of these last few months, she did. So the case was put to bed and now she was floundering. She had no way to define her purpose in life, no way to separate her identity from Katie's or her Mother's or even Kate's. She now had to figure out a way to incorporate everything about herself that she had shut up in storage while Beckett worked tirelessly for justice. She had to figure out how to _be_ without the weight of her mother's murder around her chest. The kaleidoscope of her had to be shaken up and rearranged, to make a whole picture. Fragments just didn't work anymore.

And that task was almost too much to bear.

* * *

><p>Kate takes a shuddering breath, trying to push all the self-doubt from her mind and refocuses on the paperwork in front of her. Before she can get far however, someone asks for Castle and she is spinning again. As much as Castle understands about her, as much as she begrudgingly admits that he knows information about her life that absolutely no one had been privy to before, she doubts very much that he would completely understand her struggle in this. He didn't have a parent murdered, didn't have his life ripped from him, didn't have an unrelenting desire to know why, <em>why<em> every single person she loved was torn from her. He didn't have to feel that burn of betrayal, that gushing wound of loss, that ache of despair that came with each twist of the case. As much as he could try, he just wouldn't _understand. _

But she can deal with that on her own. That's fine. She'll come through, she always does. But she is cursed, even if she gives this case up—which she has—people that she cares for still die. It's just a fact of life and it's why she never got close to any one until Castle weaseled himself past her defenses, held on and refused to let go. So now, now she needs him to function. She needs him to breathe; the air is stale without him.

That scares her.

And maybe she can't give him what he wants from her, but friendship still works. They can be friends, right?

They can be work colleagues or at least in each other's lives in a professional capacity because she honestly doesn't think she'll be able to stand her job otherwise. They can still do that. She is sure of it. Nothing has to change even though she can't reciprocate the words he gave her, that beacon amidst the darkest part of her life. She can't give them back to him right yet because she is still in a deep free fall and she doesn't want to take him with her. He has to be stable. He has to remain tethered to the earth in order for her to find her way back. He has to survive. It's the only way.

She can't do it without him.

She knows that now.

But when she wants more…

Her heart flutters at that thought, a bird against the bars of a cage.

She feels the ridge of his wrist where he brushed past her last night, pressed to her skin for a fraction of a second.

What happens if she looses him though? Will she still be able to live if he wasn't there to remind her? Would she remember to smile if he wasn't cracking jokes? Would she remember to eat, to sleep, to function like a normal human being? Would she still be able to let go if he wasn't there holding the safety net?

These questions spin in her mind, a Turkish Twist that drops the floor from under her. They make her dizzy with fear; the words tumble in an unrelenting loop. All of these paradoxical feelings swarm her like hornets, confuse and disrupt her balance. She wishes again for simplicity, for an ease that her life seems perpetually without. And yet, she clings to _his_ words, clings to the knowledge that she cannot be without him. Suddenly her world is righted and she knows what she must do.

* * *

><p>Instead of going home that night and collapsing against the weight of her emotions, Kate goes to his apartment. She wants to make this right with him, tell him that all she needs is some time, some patience. Tell him that she still needs him there with her, drifting along with the current, content not to disrupt the flow for a while. She needs to tell him that she's sorry, that this is the only way she knows how to be right now, that she'll get better for him. Because of him.<p>

She needs to tell him all of these things but she's petrified that she doesn't have the words. In any of the languages she speaks.

Her thoughts tangent for a moment, imagining the conversation in French, his eyebrows a knot of confusion as he tries to make sense of the lilting words that should mean so much to him. She shakes her head, trying to regain control. Besides French is such a sparse language. She requires rich, sonorous words for this conversation, velvet on her tongue. She can't do this with cheep cotton.

The doorman waves her through and her heart starts skipping beats, threading her pulse and making it hard for her to catch her breath.

Breathe, she admonishes, it's just Castle.

Just Castle. He stopped being _just_ Castle so very long ago.

At his door, she stops, hesitates, inhales. Repeats this three more times and then knocks, a sharp wrap of her knuckles that vibrates into her, ricocheting off the soft tissue of her heart.

It's Castle that opens the door, his face a mask of politeness. He invites her in, takes her coat and she can feel the helix of his fingers against the exposed flesh of her neck.

"Would you like to sit down?" He asks, gesturing to the couch and she's pleased that they are skipping pleasantries. She doesn't have it in her to make small talk right now.

She takes a seat and watches as he moves to face her, placing as much distance between their bodies as possible.

That hurts more than it should but she deserves it.

She doesn't know how to start without releasing everything onto him, smothering him with the burden of her confusion. She wants to do this right and he needs to hear this but she just doesn't know how.

She's worried that maybe her confession will come out in some foreign dialect. That he won't understand. That he's really done for good.

Kate swallows down a gulp of air and raises her eyes to him, forces herself to see the hurt she knows she inflicted.

"Castle, about last night…"

"No, Kate. It's done. Don't do this again." His voice is so steady, the same intonation that he adopted when he left last night.

"No, Castle listen," she pleads before he cuts her off again.

"I can't keep doing this Kate, I can't keep being in this holding pattern with you any longer. It's too much." His eyes are steel, shuttered against whatever real feelings lay behind them.

Kate grabs a pillow from the couch, presses it against her chest, as if she can suffocate that part of herself which wants to break free.

All of the things that she wants to say get gridlocked on her tongue. She starts to panic.

She doesn't know how to fix this, any of this. Maybe she's just not worth it. Maybe he's right.

Anger rears up again, an old standby in times of crisis.

"No one is asking you to Castle. If I remember correctly, it wasn't my suggestion that you stick around. It wasn't me that wanted to be your muse. You barged your way into _my_ life!" She squeezes the pillow tighter, crushes it against her puttied heart.

He scoffs at her, sneering, anger taking a hold on him too.

"This was a mistake. All of it." She tosses the pillow away and forces her body to stand, to move from his couch. "You said you were done Castle? Well guess what? So am I."

She walks faster than she thought possible to the door, cursing her silly heart, cursing her inability to speak, to open up. Cursing all her failures. The door closes with a finality that she hadn't thought possible.

She clasps a hand to her mouth; a talisman against anguish but it proves ineffective. All the tears that have been blocked up break free, wild and unbidden, smudging the hard lines of her face as she walks away.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Ufff I know! So much angst. But it's necessary, trust me on this one. It does get better for them. But come on, Kate makes nothing easy.

Thank you also to all those who reviewed. They are magical, wonderful, beautiful and any other adjective I am forgetting.

**Finally:** I do not own Castle.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm standing heart breaking

And you just walk away

-"Walk Away"

Peter Bradley Adams

* * *

><p>Castle stares dumbly after her.<p>

_What just happened?_

She walked out on him. After coming to his apartment to tell him…what?

Oh god.

He never gave her the chance.

The moment he saw her standing outside his door, her posture stiff, the lines of her body taut with—tension? Or did he misread it? —he received a shock, the jolt of electricity at her propinquity. He had let her come in, taken her coat, touched the nape of her neck leaving the whorls of his fingerprints against her skin. A tattoo or a brand. Or maybe a reminder.

He asked if she wanted to sit and fleetingly she had looked trapped, a skittish animal cornered. But then she had moved to the couch, her eyes liquid mercury—dark, rich, volatile—and he had placed physical distance between them, to keep him from doing something stupid.

Like touch her.

His heart had been somewhere around the vicinity of his toes. He felt just a little nauseous.

He had left her. Reality slapped him hard, soft bone against concrete.

Last night he had done the very thing she had convinced herself that he would always do. He had proven her point Q.E.D.

And all he had been after was the truth, just a little bit of a concession on her part so that he knew where he stood. He just wanted something, anything, so that he could begin to heal too.

But he had handled it all wrong, had lost the script sometime after the first act and had attempted to wing it.

What a fool.

He watched her gather herself, a pillar of marble against the leather of his couch and when she lifted her eyes to meet his, he saw the eddy of pain in their depths. It made him physically hurt to see it, an ache that burrowed deep, rooting into his bones like termites.

"Castle about last night…" she had begun and her voice was raw, excavated.

He could not hear what she was going to say, how she was going to end them. How she was going to cut that tether, no longer able to let him bungee back. Soon to be just one continuous plummet.

He had to forestall her, if only so he didn't have to actually acknowledge the reality of her words. So he didn't have to have them on a permanent loop in his brain when she left, a Victrola that never ran down.

He kept his voice even, so she couldn't hear how it was actually chapped beyond belief. "No, Kate. It's done. Don't do this again."

"No Castle listen," and he heard the pleading tone, like she needed to unburden all her reasons before she left his life completely. He couldn't have that, couldn't have his last memory be of her breaking him.

So again he cut her off, again kept his voice even, kept everything out of his eyes and told her a partial truth. "I can't keep doing this Kate, I can't keep being in this holding pattern with you any longer. It's too much."

She grabbed a pillow from the couch then, in response to his words, not bothering to look for those that were hidden by invisible ink. She pressed the pillow to her chest, a protective barrier from him, from them. He watched her eyes, the conflagration of anger. Watched her jaw set, the lines of her face cut sharp. It tore into him and he had to remind himself that this woman could cut him.

"No one is asking you to Castle. If I remember correctly, it wasn't my suggestion that you stick around. It wasn't me that wanted to be your muse. You barged your way into _my_ life!" The anger scraped her voice, made it hard, ignited his own.

He raised an eyebrow in contempt, refused to believe the words she had just said.

Apparently that only made it worse. She had tossed the pillow from her, discarded it from her life like he was.

"This was a mistake. All of it. You said you were done Castle? Well guess what? So am I."

He watched her bolt for the door, her hand clenched against her mouth.

And he felt his world disintegrate. Again. The second time in two days.

His heart a bloody mess, pulpy, a paste made of his mistakes.

What had he done?


	5. Chapter 5

Those plans you made always came with their conditions

I cannot change that my heart was never in them

-"Walk Away" Peter Bradley Adams

* * *

><p>He's a mess.<p>

Jittery limbs. Anxious nerves. Wringing hands.

His legs are numb. He can't move them.

His heart wild. Complete disarray.

_What just happened? _

He wishes he knew. He wishes that he was better at this, better at reading Kate but after three years of study, he's barely mastered the basic grammar, let alone complex syntax.

Castle takes a deep breath. Stills himself for the space of three long heartbeats.

He replays the previous twenty minuets, like a footballer reviewing film. Find the problem; find where he faltered on the line.

She had come to him looking raw and…vulnerable. Yes, that was it, it was everywhere on her, like she couldn't contain it any longer, a thing too big for the box she kept it in.

The pillow she pressed to her chest.

He assumed it was because she wanted space but maybe it was to keep herself whole. He hadn't thought of that, in his shock, in his haste to keep some semblance of dignity. He couldn't let her know that she completely disassembled him with just her presence.

But how quickly she turned! How quick she was to dismiss him. Could it have been self-preservation? Like his had been, to keep him from seeing all her soft places, the ones that are filled to the brim with black and blue bruising. A patina of hurt on her soul. How could he not give her the benefit of the doubt?

He was concerned with his own heart, hadn't listened to the ache in her voice. He assumed it was because she was finished, that her life simply didn't include him and she had only been humoring him for the last three years. He hadn't been able to stand that thought, hadn't been able to stand the notion that she didn't actually have any feelings towards him whatsoever. He wouldn't be confronted with the cold truth that their years had been a lie. He wouldn't.

Hence the hindrance of her words.

But now doubt nags him, tugs at his ankles like a naughty puppy.

Now he's not so sure he anticipated correctly.

_Oh God, what had he done?_

He had always known that winning Kate Beckett would take patience, would take dedication, would take a unique understanding. That was part of her allure, the chase, the thrill of knowing the unknowable. So far, he had been a master at this game, and had actually been ahead.

But he was completely thrown off with the emergence of post-shooting Kate and he just didn't know how to re-align. He was operating at a sever disadvantage and he was being stupid.

He just didn't know if her rules had changed, if he even still had a place in her life.

He was just so damn confused and he was no good when he was confused.

He made stupid mistakes, like tonight.

So stupid.

He hadn't given her time to unfold, to lay her secrets out slowly and methodically, like a tightrope walker, one foot in front of the other. He had been too afraid and he had jumped the gun.

Stupid, stupid, stupid heart.

It thunders mercilessly in his chest, banging against his ribs.

Castle can't contain his anxiety; it bursts from him, a roman candle of apprehension. He begins to pace, worries holes in his floor like Kate worries her lip.

His mind spins, images of Kate meld together, running freely over him like a wave.

Her eyes, bottle green in their openness as she stands at the threshold of his door.

Her limbs long and lean as she holds herself against pain, stoic and beautiful, refusing help.

The slash of her eyebrow, dark, thin and clever, reveling the hidden joy behind her mask of annoyance.

Oh and her lip.

The bottom one, left corner. He has the overwhelming urge to place his lips there, at the kiss curl of her mouth, to take her worry from her. The breath leaves his lungs at the thought.

His pacing stops, his whole body stock still.

They have such poor communication on the things that matter, all that exists between them is radio static.

But no longer.

He grabs his phone, his keys scrape the soft skin of his palm, and the door clicks.

The night is cold, unnaturally dark, like the city has closed its eyes on their failures, unwilling to watch as they crash and burn.

He sends up a silent prayer, a promise of hope that this _thing _doesn't break them.

Maybe, just maybe, he can save them.

He begins to run.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Can Castle save them? Will Kate get over her own stubborn hang ups? Stay tuned!<em>

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters._

_Finally: Thank you all SO much for your story alerts, favorites and reviews. They are wonderful and I am forever grateful_.


	6. Chapter 6

You don't know what I'm saying

Don't know how long I've waited

-"Walk Away" Peter Bradley Adams

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><p>The pavement underneath his feet is spongy, doesn't allow for traction. He feels himself sink with ever step. It slows his progress, his desperate sprint to Kate and he realizes with blinding clarity that it's always come down to this, that in this they will either find or loose themselves. The thought stops him short, his breath hermetic in his chest, and he signals for a cab, cursing the many blocks to Kate's apartment and his lack of athleticism.<p>

His nerves whirligig within him and he feels as though he might never make it to her front door, that time has slowed to an infinite crawl and he'll be stuck, in the back of this too small cab for the rest of eternity.

Finally, the cab pulls up to her building and suddenly Castle can't move. The enormity of their mistakes, the mass of their misunderstanding walls him in, prevents him from possibly being able to repair what has been broken, the fragile glass hurricane that they keep their feelings in. He wants to fix them but he's not sure he can. Are they irrevocably damaged? He feels a sharp pain, feels warmth sticky and viscous in his palm. He realizes that he had been digging the jagged edges of his key into his flesh while he warred with himself to get out of the cab.

He looks at his palm, watches the blood pool within the hollow, watches it fill the cracks of his lifeline. He doesn't want a life without her in it. He wants her, only her, all of her. He wants to fill himself with her. Their story isn't even half written yet. He has the power to give Nikki Heat a happy ending and so he has the power to give Kate Beckett one too.

That's his job.

He gets out of the cab.

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><p>Her building's doorman recognizes him, waves him through, gives him an encouraging smile, like he knows just what a battle Castle is about to enter. Castle doesn't know if he should be thankful or scared. Maybe he's both. He wishes he had Kate's armor, the one suit that allowed her to stand strong against the assault of emotion, to take whatever comes her way with impartiality and a wicked poker face. He knows that she will be able to see everything that flows through him; he can't hide the estuaries of pain from her. He wants to somehow level the playing field. How much better this might be if he could see her thoughts, mercurial and quick, as he works to repair them. He pushes that all aside, knowing that he needs to man up and show her just how right they are because if there is one thing he knows about Kate Beckett is that she'll work to sabotage herself, believing that she doesn't deserve happiness.<p>

She deserves it, more than anyone he knows.

He stands in front of her door, a supplicant, waits for her to open it.

She makes him wait. He lost track of the seconds. It could have been millennia; it could have been in the space of a heartbeat. The wait was nearly his undoing.

When she opens the door, his knees almost give way.

She stands barefoot, wrapped in an oversized cardigan; eyes rimmed red, like she took an eyeliner pencil to them. He felt something break within him, to see her pain.

Her heart like a wound.

She says nothing but stands aside to let him in and it's like she can't even muster up the old fight anymore.

Castle suddenly believes he might have an easier time mending them than he thought and another piece of him crumbles. He did this to her, took away her strength, what a thief he turned out to be.

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><p>Kate struggles to compose herself in the time it takes her to close the door and chain it into place. She can't make him leave even if she wanted to, she doesn't have the power for that anymore just as she doesn't have the strength to put on her mask of indifference. It's all gone, Beckett won't come out to help her so now it's just Kate, soft and vulnerable, and she wants to close her eyes against this all, wake up when Beckett comes back. All that's left in her is numbness. All the feelings that rolled like thunder within her as she left Castle's loft have dissipated, left her empty and cold like a clay jug.<p>

She wants to fall to the floor but that would be counterproductive. Instead she moves to the couch, draws her knees to her chest, protecting her vital organs.

He moves to the couch too, sits close but doesn't touch and the sudden, violent memory of his fingers on her skin make her hands begin to shake. She stills them by wrapping them around her legs.

Longing bleeds within her, an internal gash that she cannot staunch.

She looks at him because she has no control anymore.

He looks wrecked and instead of making her feel better, it makes it worse. She wants to reach out but she doesn't know how, she doesn't know how to do anything right anymore. Tonight certainly proved that to her. She had tried to tell him that she…what? Loved him? Needed him? She had tried to tell him everything she was feeling and that was a disaster on par with sinkholes and earthquakes.

She is lost. It's as simple as that. She hasn't felt this was since immediately after her mother died and she had no idea how to function in life anymore.

She wants him to find her.

"Kate." Her name is a balm on his tongue, it feels cool and smooth in his mouth and he thinks he could be content forever if he could just say her name again and again and never stop.

She doesn't speak but he sees the acknowledgment in her eyes, sees her respond to his use of her name, like it might heal her too.

"I came here to say that I'm done." His voice is raspy, horse from holding in grief. He watches her blanch, watches the color leak out of her eyes and run like rivulets against the hollow of her cheeks. Tears like a stain.

"Oh god no!" He catches himself, realizes what he said and what it must have sounded like. Damn radio static.

He hurries to speak, "What I mean is that I'm done pretending that this," and he gestures between them, "is nothing."

He watches her as tears continue their path, tributaries of anguish.

"I'm tired of pretending that you aren't everything to me, that we aren't exactly right for each other. I know that you're scared. I know that you're hurt but Kate, I am too. You can't do this alone. I can't do this alone. You're it for me Kate. You. I can't make it any clearer than that. And we have such bad timing when it comes to this, we have a lifetime of misunderstanding but I'm done. No more. You've got me, whether you like it or not.

Kate, I love you."

His words overtake her, envelope her, engulf her, like a song her very bones know instinctively. The song of home, of safety, of love.

Can it be that easy?

She looks at him, sees it all over his face, in every single line and crease, a sculpture of assurance.

She unfurls her body, stretches out in this sphere of words. She wants to hold them to her, let them warm her but she must speak first, make him understand that she doesn't know anything any more. That she might not be the woman that he fell in love with, that he might be in love with a mirage.

"Rick," and her voice is so small, "I…" She stops, suddenly unable to continue. What if he doesn't understand, what if he'll walk away when he finds out the truth. The horrible truth that she's been hiding from every one-that Kate Beckett is completely and utterly lost. Disoriented in this new world she's found herself in, an explorer without a compass.

"You what, Kate?"

Suddenly she feels her words come bubbling up, like blood at the point of a pinprick. "I don't know how to be anymore. I, I, think that maybe everything changed and…what if I'm not _me_ anymore?"

"Kate just because you gave up your mother's case doesn't mean you gave up being you. It doesn't make you any less caring, or any less strong. It doesn't mean that you lost yourself because that case didn't _make_ you. It's apart of you, yes, and it always will be but it doesn't define you. What defines you is your heart, your fierce intelligence, your empathy. All of these things, Kate, make up you."

His words catch her off guard and it takes her a minuet before she can speak again. His words make her brave.

"I can't do it without you."

"I won't make you." His voice is gentle, curls over her like a ribbon. "I need you. Don't you know that yet? My world isn't right without you in it."

She has to tell him something now, to let him know that she actually did know, for a while, but couldn't face it until he made her. "I need you too."

His smile is dazzling; it eradicates the darkness until there is no more false night within her. She feels the light begin to bloom, a pulsing, brilliant light that sinks in and takes hold of her, it is throbbing with promise.

He comes to her, his smile infecting her and slowly, slowly cradles her face in his hands. He leans in, nuzzles her nose, "I love you Kate. I love you."

And then he kisses the smile from her face, gently, carefully and filled with his love. Overflowing with it. He pulls away and every nerve in her feels electric. For the first time since the bullet pierced her skin she feels alive.

His thumb is a prayer against her lips.

"I love you." She is surprised by the softness of her voice, like cashmere, and how right the words feel against her tongue.

She moves forward to take the happiness from him, a conduit of joy between them.

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><p><em>Author's note: So that's the end of book one. I hope you all enjoyed it, and managed to make it through Kate and Castle's angst. Hopefully the next story will find them in a happier place, if the ending is anything to go by.<em>

_Disclaimer: I don't own them._

_Finally: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you to all those who reviewed, for the story alerts and favorites. They are wonderful and touching. I don't think I have enough words of thanks._


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